Chapter 11: Return Journey

I watched closely. I didn’t want to assume the worst, but with a massive, living tree standing in front of us, I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was deathly silent, save for a rustle of leaves as it bent forward, bringing Lady Sage closer to Elf.

A swell of pressure erupted from her hand, and the veins beneath her skin glowed bright orange. The cut on Elf’s forehead sealed almost instantaneously. I couldn’t even see the skin knitting back together. It was more like closing a zip-lock bag.

I whispered to Shave, “Does she have enough Presence for us all? Do druids even use Presence like we do?” Of everyone in the squad, Shave knew the most about magic. Elf had a better knowledge of history, though.

Shave chuckled. “Somewhat. Their advancement is along similar lines, but it’s not as rigid. And they cannot assess their physical attributes with numbers, not like we can.”

“Any idea what tier she—”

“Iron,” she snapped. Her tree creature walked over to me, and from the way its wooden face-plate shifted, I got the sense that it was angry with me as well. “Do not talk about me behind my back, Duplicate.”

I swallowed. “Sorry.”

She held out a hand toward my shoulder, and without even pulling off the bandage or my chainmail, I knew the flesh was sealing up again. The pain faded instantly, and although it took a few seconds longer, any sign of the fox bite was gone. There wasn’t even an itch, not like with Hild’s healing. At the same time, she winced, then rubbed her own shoulder. Had she been absorbing my pain?

“Thank you,” I said, even if I wasn’t sure if I meant it. Really, what had she been doing hiding in the wagon this whole time. She had to know that there’d been a fight and someone had to have gotten hurt.

She tilted her head in confusion, as if I was speaking an entirely foreign language, then whistled, and her tree creature moved on, carrying her over to Romance.

I supposed she wasn’t actually in the army yet. I didn’t know how any of this worked. But it wasn’t common decency to heal people if you could? I tried to shut it out of my mind. We were just Dupes, and she was a noblewoman. Perhaps it hadn’t even crossed her mind—I couldn’t just assume this world worked the exact same as Earth.

I glanced at Shave again and asked, “What’s that creature called?”

“A forest golem,” Shave replied. “Rare sight, those. They’re fiercely loyal, and they’ll only ever bond to druids.”

“Duplicate,” Sage said, her head whipping back toward me. “What did I tell you about talking about me behind my back?”

I scowled, annoyed. I hadn’t really meant it about her—I’d been talking about her forest golem. But I stopped myself from saying that. There was no need to anger a lord’s daughter like this. I simply said, “Sorry.”

“His name is Morph.”

After checking us all for injuries, she whistled to Morph and he carried her back aboard the wagon, then pulled the back flap shut with an aggressive tug.

“Well,” Elf complained softly. “She has a bit of an attitude.”

“And a lot of Presence,” Ticks added. “She must be near the peak of Iron.”

“How much Presence do you need to advance to Steel?” I asked. Steel, being the next rank after Iron.

“For us, ten full points of Presence gets you to Steel tier,” Shave replied. “For druids, I can’t say how it works. But she is close to becoming an equivalent of Steel.”

There was a frustrated huff from within the wagon, probably because we hadn’t stopped talking behind the Lady’s back at all. The two sappers pulled their spears up, allowing the wagon through, and the coachman and the remaining mercenary passed through the gap in the fence and entered the castle estate.

“That’s our duty done,” Shave said. “Let’s get moving. Commander Galliard will expect us back soon.”

“The sappers’ training grounds seem awfully close to the front lines,” I remarked as we turned away.

“It didn’t used to be that way,” Elf replied. “But with the orcs pushing south, we’re going to have more problems going forward.”

“All the signs are there,” Shave grumbled. “Soon, the war will begin in earnest.”

“Are we…ready?” I asked.

Ticks snorted, Romance shook his head, and Shave said, “Don’t ask those kinds of questions. You don’t want anyone to think you’re doubting the Warlord’s judgement. He’ll send us what resources he can.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Still fantasizing about joining the SAP?” Elf asked.

I winced. “Uh, perhaps more than ever.”

Ticks shook his head and scoffed. “Ninety percent of them die before they finish their term. Most of them are such zealots that they stay for another term of employment, and then they get themselves killed anyway.”

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“And? Are the rates for us that much better?”

“Down here, yes,” Shave said.

“Shouldn’t that apply to sappers too, then?” I shook my head. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life as nothing!”

Romance pointed back over his shoulder with his thumb, aiming at the speck in the distance—Luiger’s dead body. “That’s nothing. Sticking your neck out, that’ll get you killed. Just accept it. Accept your name.”

“Accept my name?” I tightened my grip on my spear. “I’m Levi. I’ve always been.”

“You’re not a sir, not a lord,” said Shave.

“Certainly not a king,” Elf added.

“What if that didn’t matter?”

“You’ll be sorely disappointed, Levi,” said Romance.

I refused to acknowledge that. I just kept walking.

We made good time as we retraced our route across the countryside. Without a wagon, we could take shortcuts along less-trodden roads, which improved our pace. It also meant we could pass through villages and towns, because we didn’t have to avoid the crowded streets and worry about the wagon getting stuck. We could just worm our way through the crowds.